


'til i tasted you

by wordsoverflow



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Rocketman (2019) RPF
Genre: Banter, Beardburn, Biting, Coming In Pants, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Friends With Benefits, Frottage, Hair Kink, M/M, Pining, Rimming, Schmoop, Sexual Tension, brief reference to the word 'daddy' but NO daddy kink whatsoever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-01 22:42:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19186798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsoverflow/pseuds/wordsoverflow
Summary: “Oh fuck,” Taron sighs in defeat. “It’s this,” he says, bringing his hand up to press against Richard’s prickly, chiseled cheek. He rubs a thumb against the grain of the hair, biting his lip at the sharp way it drags along his skin.Richard pulls back so he can look Taron properly in the eye. “Mybeard?”(taron hasn't seen richard in several weeks, and in that time richard has been letting his facial hair grow out. taron has a moment, and richard comes along for the ride.)





	'til i tasted you

**Author's Note:**

> so like, one minute i'm going about minding my own business, the next thing i know i'm posting written porn on the internet for an unknown number of people to read about taron egerton and richard madden doing the mattress mumbo. 
> 
> here's 8.7k of exactly that.

“Taron!” It’s Dex, strolling over to him with arms open for a hug already. “We made it, lad,” Dex crows joyously into his ear before pulling back.

“We did,” Taron laughs, shaking his head slightly in wonderment. He looks around, sees the familiar faces of the cast and crew and can’t shake the grin from his face. Post-production had declared the film complete a few days earlier and Dex is throwing a party to celebrate.

He narrows his eyes, scanning the crowd more closely.

“Richard’s in that corner over there,” Dex says suddenly, gesturing to the other side of the wide living room. The knowing smirk on his face makes Taron want to disappear.

“I…” he begins, intending to defend himself, but Dex laughs right in his face, claps him on the shoulder, and struts away. Taron lets himself wallow in embarrassment for a few moments before accepting that he is just _that_ obvious and begins to make his way towards the area Dex had directed him. In his own defense, Taron hasn’t seen Richard in nearly a month—it’s perfectly innocent to be eager to see a best mate again after time apart.

He spots the back of Richard’s head first, neatly styled wavy brown hair and broad shoulders fitted flawlessly into a terribly expensive looking suit. Taron has a quick flashback to himself scratching up those shoulders while being fucked into his own mattress but shakes it away, flushing only slightly. He tiptoes to right up behind Richard and without warning, digs his fingers into Richard’s flanks, tickling viciously.

“Fuck!” Richard yelps, turning around. Taron should take the opportunity to continue his attack but he’s stopped dead in his tracks because of Richard’s _face_ —he’s unshaven, at least a week or two of stubble growing over his jaw and cheeks. It’s...Richard is unfairly attractive on even his worst day but this somehow feels like Taron’s been hit over the head.

“Oh, of course it’s you,” Richard is saying, setting down his drink on the little side table to their left. “Made me spill my whisky, you tosser.” It’d just splashed a bit on his wrist and Richard brings his hand up so he can lick it up. Taron feels like the universe is launching a personal attack against him. That, or he’d gotten so used to fucking Richard whenever he wanted over the course of filming that just a few weeks without him has turned Taron into pining, horny mess.  

Just then, Richard sweeps him into a hug. It’s too comforting _not_ to get swept in and for a moment, Taron forgets about the stubble and his horniness. “You’re overdressed, you know,” Taron teases when they separate. Richard really _is_ , the full suit sticks out among the crowd of black jeans, designer tops, and bright short dresses.

Richard makes a face. “I thought the party was going to be high profile. You know, paps and pictures and released and stuff.”

Taron laughs at him. “So you need to put on a suit every time someone takes a photo of you, then?” The suit looks bloody fantastic on Richard, but Taron isn’t going to point this out just yet. Taron reaches over and grabs the drink Richard had set down, stealing a sip for himself.

“Hey,” Richard says indignantly.

Taron makes a face as he swallows his sip. “Ugh, God,” he complains. “Whisky really is the worst.” Richard grabs the glass back from him and drinks some down from himself. The movement brings Taron’s attention back to Richard’s jaw again, and the dusting of coarse hair over it.

It’s not like he wasn’t aware Richard’s go-to look involved a GQ-worthy smattering of facial hair, and it’s true he’d even been around Richard while he was sporting a few days worth of stubble. He’s vividly reminded of the jokes they’d made while filming their carpool bit and doesn’t find them funny at all now. The last time they’d shagged, a few days after filming wrapped up, Richard had still been clean shaven.

Taron realizes he’s sort of just staring awkwardly at Richard’s jaw and moves his eyes back up to Richard’s. He finds Richard watching him too, blue eyes narrowed slightly as if trying to figure Taron out. Taron wonders what Richard’s thinking about it, if his brain is also supplying him with a dizzying montage of all the gloriously filthy things they got up to together.

Taron clears his throat. “Is Jamie here, then?”

Richard curls his lips into a slight smile, like there’s a private joke he’s in on, or he knows something Taron doesn’t. It makes Taron feel the way people describe seeing the Mona Lisa. He feels foolish just for having that thought. He sets down his glass, which is still mostly full, only a few sips taken from it.“Yeah, I think so,” Richard says. “Let’s go find him.”

As they’re making their way through the crowd, keeping an eye out for Jamie, Taron feels Richard place a hand on the small of his back. He jolts a little at the touch—just a ghost of one really, Richard is barely making contact—and tries not react to it any further. They’ve always been affectionate, sex aside, and he can _handle this_.

“Taron! Rich!” It’s Jamie, waving at them from a sofa near a coffee table to their right. Taron beams and they make their way over quickly to him. Jamie gives a joyous laugh and stands up to wrap Taron into a hug, then reaches over and pulls Richard into it as well. “Was wondering where you two were,” Jamie says, giving them each a smacking kiss on their cheeks and releasing them.

“Have a beer,” Jamie says, shoving one at each of them from a collection of them in a bin on the coffee table he’s sat nearby. He settles himself back on the couch he was originally at, and Taron and Richard sit themselves on a loveseat on the other side of the table, across from Jamie.

Taron takes a couple sips of his beer before setting it down beside a bowl of crisps. He turns his head to see Richard twisting the cap of his beer off easily, and finds his eyes glued to the movement Richard’s wrist makes as he does so.

“Hey,” Jamie says, snapping his fingers. “Taron, earth to Taron?”

Taron blinks dazedly and looks back at Jamie. “Sorry?” He can  _feel_ Richard’s eyes on him, questioning, evaluating.

“I asked if you’d heard about when press tour is supposed to start,” Jamie says, maybe smirking at him knowingly. Taron tries not to think about it.

He shakes his head. “Oh. No, no, not yet. Have you?”

They discuss the press tour for a bit longer. Richard joins in and Jamie turns his focus to him for the moment, because Richard actually knows when it’ll start. Free to let his attention wander, Taron feels every muscle involved when his eyes immediately snap back over to Richard. He’s hyper aware of the habit now.

Richard nods at something Jamie is saying and reaches out for his beer, bringing it up to his lips and taking a sip. Taron could not look away if his life depended on it.  

The expensive suit really is too much for the atmosphere but Richard looks _so_ good in it that Taron is really quite thankful for the mess up—it’s fitted so perfectly to Richard that it’s as if it was made from scratch just for him. There’s a fancy watch on his wrist, the same hand clutching the bottle, and a drop of condensation falls from the beer bottle, down his knuckles and onto the watch. Taron feels like he watches it slide in high definition and slow motion.

Richard brings the bottle back down and Taron stares more helplessly at the movement of his throat as he swallows, rippling beneath smooth skin and that fucking stubble. The coarse hair only emphasizes his strong, sharp jaw and his blue eyes above it appear all the more striking.

“What are you looking at?” Richard sounds greatly amused. He sets the bottle down and looks Taron in the face.

Taron truly has no idea what makes him say it. He’s had not even half of the beer, and he got almost nine hours of sleep last night. Whatever the case he’s suddenly listening to himself blurt out—“I can see why they call you Daddy so much.”

Jamie actually spits out the sip of the drink he’d been taking, and falls into a brief coughing fit.

Richard’s face barely changes, almost completely blank but for the slight rise of his eyebrows, like he hasn’t even completely processed Taron’s comment yet. “What?”

_What?_

Jamie finally stops coughing. Taron tries to plead with his eyes for help but Jamie shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders, looking torn between disbelief and amusement.

“I—” Taron starts, floundering. “Fans, people. They—they call you, um, _that_ a lot.”

There’s a nervous chuckle from Richard, who brings a hand up to comb through his hair. “Supposedly they do,” he says slowly, dropping that ridiculously piercing gaze somewhere to the left of Taron’s chin. “Try not to think much about it if I’m being honest.”

Jamie finally fucking speaks, after letting Taron drown in his own misery for far too long, but then it turns out he isn’t even helpful. “But you can see why they do, is that right, Taron? Something you’d like to tell us?” Taron scowls at Jamie, who smiles that sweet, friendly smile of his and reaches for another crisp.

“Fuck off,” Taron says, going for dismissive as his only option out. “I’ve been drinking, alright. You’ve both said worse to me,” he accuses. He reaches for a crisp as well, desperate to keep himself busy someway.

“You’ve had two sips of your beer,” Jamie points out, looking far too pleased with himself. Taron narrows his eyes at him and hopes that he properly conveys the arse kicking Jamie is going to get for this at some point. Jamie smiles beatifically again and continues munching on his snacks.

Richard reaching over and pats Taron’s knee soothingly. “It’s alright, love. We always knew you were a lightweight anyway.”

Taron pouts. “I’m not talking to either one of you,” he declares, pulling out his phone and scrolling through it in defiance. Richard and Jamie both laugh at him, and turn to converse with each other instead.

There’s nothing really worth paying attention to on his phone but Taron rather enjoys being a fly on the wall sometimes, so he just pretends to be preoccupied with the screen while he listens to the conversations going on around him. He very deeply adores everyone in this room, the people who have poured everything into this project too, and he’s happy to hear the buzz of pride and friendship throughout.

Apropos of nothing, Richard hooks his ankle around Taron’s where they’ve both stretched their feet out under the coffee table. Taron breathes in sharply and looks up at Richard, who is still looking right at Jamie and laughing at something he’s said. Taron is about look back down at his phone when Richard turns his head just a bit and flits his eyes over to Taron. He gives him a small smile, _their_ smile, and scoots his hand over on the loveseat, so that it’s just barely touching Taron’s thigh.

Taron returns the smile and brings his hand down to gently brush his fingers over the back of Richard’s hand. Richard nudges the tips of fingers beneath Taron’s thigh, then returns his eyes back to Jamie and their conversation. Taron lets out a shaky breath and tries very much not to smile like an absolute fool.

He’d never been particularly bothered with the way he and Richard defined their relationship—that is, by not really defining it at all. They were simply best mates who shagged exclusively, and that was good. Taron’s not even sure he’d want a more...structured label for whatever it was they were doing. It does, however, make things hard to suss out in situations such as these—or at least, that's Taron's fear had been. 

It feels silly to have worried at all. He and Richard have never been out of sync once, and that hasn’t changed in the least. Feeling much more chipper, Taron slings an arm around Richard’s shoulders. The movement brings him closer to Richard and so Richard moves his hand from underneath Taron’s thigh, resting instead just above Taron’s knee. Jamie doesn’t so much as blink—they’re all affectionate enough as it is and Jamie is also keenly aware of the whole shagging thing (he caught them snogging in Taron’s car once. It was highly amusing to him).

Taron tries his best to keep involved in the conversation, but as much as his worries have been put to rest, his libido has done very much the opposite. Richard feels warm and firm and good, and Taron knows exactly what’s underneath that suit and he knows exactly how long it’s been since they were last together and he’s restless.

Worst is the fucking beard—Taron keeps catching himself staring at the movement of Richard’s jaw beneath the short, prickly hairs and has to physically pull his eyes away at each moment. Jamie takes a phone call, his mum, and Taron leans forward to grab his drink. His arm bumps Richard’s knee and he feels Richard take a short inhale.

“You smell good,” Taron murmurs under his breath. He takes a swig of his beer and sets it back down, this time making sure to squeeze Richard’s thigh when he pulls his arm back. He can _feel_ Richard staring at him and wants to bask in it. There are times Taron still can’t quite get over _how_ Richard looks at him, like he’s the eighth fucking wonder of the world.

Jamie hangs up and right then Dex wanders over, smiling, and plops down next to Jamie on the couch. He rattles on about the edits in post-production and the three of them listen attentively, making comments here and there. Taron shifts the arm he has around Jamie’s shoulder so that his hand is pressed to the back of his neck, and moves his thumb up and down lightly on Richard’s warm skin.  

“The loo,” Richard suddenly announces, standing up all at once. Taron blinks, jostled out of his warm Richard-filled happy space. “I’m going to use the loo. Dex, where is…?”

“Oh sure, sure,” Dex says genially. “The hallway behind the stairwell over there, turn left into it and go all the way down. It’s right there, last door at the end. There’s another one towards the front but I expect everyone will be using that one.”

Richard thanks him, and then reaches out, gives Taron’s shoulder a squeeze, and saunters away. Jamie looks right at Taron and raises his eyebrows. _Piss off_ , Taron mouths at him. Not a minute later, however, Taron’s phone buzzes with a text against his leg. He doesn’t even have to look at the text to see who it’s from or what it says. He stands up, casual as possible and puts on his most charming smile, as if Dex and Jamie both can’t see right through it. “I’m gonna…” he pauses, searching for the right excuse.

“Go to the loo?” Jamie asks shrewdly, and Dex giggles like a schoolboy in on a joke.

Taron gathers up his dignity, flips them off, and does his very best to not actually skip off in the direction of the bathroom.

—

He’s only got one knock on the door before it swings open, and Richard reaches out and pulls him inside. Richard shoves him right up against the wall and snogs him senseless. “What the hell was that, Taron?” Richard mutters into his mouth. “You were gagging for it already, couldn’t wait even an hour, hm?”

Taron moans and doesn’t even try to deny it.

“What got into you?” Richard asks him, kissing down his neck, and pinning Taron’s hips to the wall with hands. Taron shivers and tugs _hard_ at Richard’s hair. He smirks when Richard hisses in response.

“Is it the Daddy thing?” Richard murmurs against Taron’s mouth, crowding impossibly closer to him. Taron loves being cornered by Richard—it was his favorite way to kick things off whenever he and Richard would have a shag during filming. He pushes against Richard just to feel the way Richard tightens his grip and smiles slightly in response. He knows exactly how much Taron likes this, and that makes it even more exciting.

“No,” Taron gasps honestly, tipping his head back against the wall as much as he can. Richard takes the obvious invitation to kiss down his jaw, his throat. It is very much _not_ the Daddy thing, there isn’t even a part of Taron that feels intrigued by that, and he still regrets making that comment. It was about _why_ so many have enthusiastically labeled Richard as such—Taron can see the qualities that lead them there and it’s those qualities that are driving him mad.

Richard hums against the hollow of Taron’s throat, and brings one hand down to cup Taron’s cock where it’s plumped up in his jeans. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Taron bites out, humping his hips up helplessly into Richard’s palm. “I promise.”

“You promise,” Richard repeats slowly. Then he brings both hands to Taron’s shirt, beginning to unbutton it one by one. “I believe you,” Richard says, and start dropping an open mouthed kiss to each bit of Taron’s skin he uncovers. He stops just before Taron’s navel, leaving the rest of the shirt buttoned up while he brings his face back up to Taron’s, nudging their noses together.

Taron thinks he’s about to get snogged and slackens his mouth in anticipation.

Richard _laughs_ , softly, and shakes his head slightly, then rubs a thumb over Taron’s slick lower lip. “But it is _something_ , isn’t it?” Taron’s eye’s flutter shut at how deep and thick Richard’s accent becomes when they’re like this. “You can tell me,” Richard coaxes. “I’ll give it to you.”

Taron nips at Richard’s thumb. “You’re a wanker,” he breathes, opening his eyes. His hands are free for the moment, so he reaches around and grabs Richard’s arse in both hands, aggressively pulling him forward so their hips press firmly together. The moan Richard lets out when their cocks touch is _immensely_ satisfying.

“And you’re a brat,” Richard retorts, and it should not make Taron’s body flush with arousal to hear Richard call him that, but the association to it with Richard fucking him into mattresses, couches, and some floors is too strong. Richard brushes his lips, so lightly the touch is barely there, over Taron’s mouth. It’s still close enough that the stubble surrounding Richard’s mouth brushes tangibly up against Taron’s own skin.

Taron—well, he breaks a little. “Oh fuck,” Taron sighs in defeat. “It’s this,” he says, bringing his hand up to press against Richard’s prickly, chiseled cheek. He rubs a thumb against the grain of the hair, biting his lip at the sharp way it drags along his skin.

Richard pulls back so he can look Taron properly in the eye. “My _beard_?” He doesn’t sound mocking, more like he’s experiencing genuine shock that it’s the hair on his face driving Taron a bit mad. Then again—

“Shove off,” Taron says, digging his fingertips slightly into the edge of Richard’s jaw. “You know it’s fucking gorgeous,” he defends. “You’ve seen what people say and—and it’s your go-to style, you arsehole, even you know it looks good.” Richard opens his mouth but Taron continues. “And I dunno if I would really call it a _beard_ , Rich. Maybe like, strong-willed peach fuzz.”

Richard shuts his mouth and gets _that_ gleam in his eyes, the one that makes them glow so blue it hardly seems real. “And yet here you are panting over it because you want—what? Get scratched up a bit? Want me to hold you down and fuck you and kiss you until your face is red? Want me to eat you out like this?”

Game over. Taron doesn’t even want to out-bicker Richard anymore. He’s happy to forfeit their game of taunts if it means Richard will do even one of the filthy things he’s just let spill out of his mouth and cement vividly in Taron’s imagination. “Oh fuck, Richard, please,” he says, bucking hips up and frantically shoving his hands up Richard’s shirt so he can claw at his back.

Richard looks somewhere between startled at Taron’s total surrender and absolutely thrilled at his neediness. “Jesus Christ, T,” Richard says, marveling. “C’mere,” he murmurs, and grabs one of Taron’s thighs, pulls it up so Taron’s leg is sling over his, pulled up tight. This brings their pelvises even closer together and it is _glorious_.

Taron whines and nods in hearty approval to this new position. Richard ducks his head down and mouths wetly at Taron’s neck. Taron feels him tilt his head a bit, and then his bearded chin is dragging along the soft skin just above Taron’s collarbone. “ _Fuck_ ,” Taron drawls out, hips twitching.

“I missed you,” Richard mutters, dropping Taron’s leg so he can more easily hunch down and begin sucking a mark into the center of Taron’s chest. “Missed this.” He smoothes a hand over Taron’s abdomen, tense and quivering. “Fuck, you’re just perfect,” Richard mutters, bringing his head back up and gripping Taron’s jaw. He licks into his mouth softly, lets Taron rock his hips up and dig his short nails into Richard’s back.

“I did,” Taron gasps, moving to kiss sloppily over Richard’s jaw, presses close so the hair there will scrap against him. “I did, too. Missed you.” He huffs out an airy laugh into the sweaty skin of Richard’s neck. “I started having dreams about you,” he admits. He’ll regret this by tomorrow because it’s just _begging_ to become prime fodder for Richard’s teasing but right now he feels compelled to share.

He can feel the enormous grin Richard presses into his skin. “You did?” Taron nods, busy kissing over to the other side of Richard’s face, letting himself get scratched up by that too. “What did you dream about?” As he says it, Richard begins unbuttoning the rest of Taron’s shirt.

“Uh,” Taron says, trying to focus. “Just—you. Sometimes—sometimes we were just on set, having a drink.” He swallows. “Dreamt about you fucking me. Or sucking me off.” Richard groans and kisses him. Taron shivers a bit and brings his hands round to underneath the front of Richard’s shirt, gropes at the muscled skin and the sparse, coarse hair there. “Had a couple dreams of you just being an idiot, too, of course. Although I suppose that’s more of a nightmare, right?”

Richard rolls his eyes. “Brat,” he says simply, and then drops his hand to Taron’s waistband, thumbing at button. “If I make you come in your pants right here,” Richard says slowly, “and I make sure your jeans don’t get stained...will you walk out of here and come back to the hotel with me? Walk out of here messy and all mine?”

Sometimes when Richard talks like this, Taron wonders where he learned it. It’s porny and cliched and _so fucking hot_ Taron kind of melts at it. He feels helpless but to fall all over himself when Richard talks to him this way, and right now is no exception. “Jesus, Richard,” he says, and bucks his hips up.

Richard grins, feral and delicious, and unbuttons and unzips Taron’s jeans. Immediately, he dips his hand inside and cups his palm around the shaft of Taron’s cock through his briefs. “Fuck,” Richard says, with feeling. “Missed this the most, I think.” Taron bucks his hips up and Richard thumbs over the head of his cock. “Leaking already,” Richard breathes. “Gonna have to fuck me with this soon, you know.”

Taron groans and nods helplessly, thinks about Richard face down on a bed, spread out and whining the way he does when he’s getting dicked. They’ve shared everything between one another, explored every way to do things, and Taron is fucking grateful for that because it’s all _stupidly_ good with Richard. “Yeah. Promise,” he says simply, because he’s losing words a little with the way Richard is now circling a fingertip over the head of his cock through his briefs.

“Good,” Richard says, and tugs Taron’s jeans down to his thighs. “If you come just like this for me,” Richard starts, “I will eat your arse out when we get back to the hotel. And my beard will scratch you all up. I’ll eat you out so good you’ll be _raw_ —“

Taron chokes on a gasp, tugs Richard to him so he can sink his teeth into his shoulder, and comes hard right into his pants like Richard wanted him to. Richard hisses when Taron bites him, and Taron knows it’s because he loves it.

“Fuck, Taron,” Richard murmurs. “That’s so good, can feel how hard you’re coming. Doing so good.” Taron lets his head drop back against the wall as the orgasm tapers off, panting loudly.

Richard starts kissing down Taron’s jaw, his neck, to the hollow of his throat. Taron hums happily and rests a hand on Richard’s shoulder. Richard kisses down his chest and then hunches to kiss down his torso and suddenly drops to his knees so he can kiss past Taron’s navel, follow the line of downy hair beneath it. “Christ,” Richard breathes, nosing at the waistband of Taron’s briefs. “I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”

Taron _shivers_.

Richard places his slack mouth over the bulge of Taron’s softening cock—still half-hard, and swollen, sensitive. He’s aware that he’s sticky and damp with come but that actually seems to be the point for Richard at the moment. He’s mouthing at the soaked fabric, lapping at it like he’s trying to get the taste. When he presses too close and it sends a zap of overstimulation through Taron, he yelps and grabs Richard’s shoulders to drag him back up.

He presses his mouth to Richard’s and walks him backward until Richard’s back hits the other wall and they’ve essentially reversed places. “Fuck,” he says, groping all over Richard’s body, can’t get enough. “I think I have a problem,” he sighs. “You’re my problem. You’re a twat and somehow I still want to fuck you up.”

Richard grins like he’s won something and pulls Taron in for good long snog. Taron’s lips are tingling by the time they pull apart. “I’ve gone scruffy around you before, you know,” Richard says, while Taron combs his fingers through his hair. He scratches at Richard’s scalp a bit and bites back a smile at the way Richard’s eyelids flutter a bit in relaxation.

“Is there a question?” Taron drops a kiss to Richard’s cheek before pulling his jeans back up all the way and doing his button and zipper. The cooling come doesn’t feel excellent but it was well worth it and the anticipation of what’s to come at the hotel makes it even easier to deal with.

“Yes,” Richard says, rolling his eyes a bit. “And the question is: why didn’t it turn you into a slag before now?”

“Oi,” Taron says, feigning offense and smacking Richard’s shoulder. “Rude of you,” he sniffs. “I honestly dunno what it is right now. Does it matter though?” Taron thinks that perhaps the beard is just a vessel what’s really lighting Taron up right now: weeks apart from Richard. Perhaps it’s just Richard himself, like always. Taron doesn’t really want to inflate Richard’s ego too much right now, so he keeps it too himself.

Richard grins. “No, I suppose it doesn’t. I do just love knowing ways to screw with you though.”

Taron picks up Richard’s hand and kisses it. “Darling,” he sighs, pausing for effect. He looks up at Richard through his eyelashes, the way he knows drives Richard insane. “I’m _always_ a slag for you and you can _always_ screw with me.” He cups the still half-hard bulge of Richard’s cock through his jeans, gives it a squeeze, and moves to walk away, snickering at the slew of curses Richard leaves out.

“Are you coming along?” Taron pauses at the door, looking back at Richard, keeping his face the picture of innocence.

Richard groans. “You’re the devil. Don’t know why I hang around you at all.” He meets Taron at the door and kisses the corner of his mouth. “I have your favorite wine up at my hotel room. Sooner we get there, sooner I’ll pour you a glass.” He pats Taron’s arse and reaches over to open the door for him.

“A bit presumptuous of you, innit?” Taron says, like he isn’t absolutely fucking tickled that Richard prepared in advance to have Taron holed up in his hotel room. He follows close behind Richard as they step out of the bathroom into the hallway.

“Presumptuous, pragmatic,” Richard shrugs like it’s all interchangeable. “Some would even call it generous, you know.”

Taron laughs, “Right, so when you were stocking up on my favorite bottle of wine you were being _generous_ , and that’s all.”

Richard snorts. “Of course not. I was thinking about all the things I might be doing to you this weekend and you do look _so_ pretty with wine stained lips.”

 _Taron: 0, Richard: 1,_  Taron thinks, tripping a bit. “Damn it, Richard,” he mutters. Richard fucking laughs and then they get to the end of the hallway. Just as they’re about to turn the corner, Jamie appears.

He almost walks right into them. “Sorry—oh, it’s you fuckers,” he laughs, looking rather tipsy. He peers at them shrewdly. “Let me guess. You’re _both_ conveniently headed back to the hotel?”

“Do we look that bad?” Taron marvels, wondering how quickly Jamie came to that conclusion.

“Not particularly, no,” Jamie says, smirking. “But I spent months on set with you two and I know what it looks like. I mean, both your lips are like,” he gestures vaguely to his own mouth, “swollen. And Rich, your _hair_ , Christ.” He reaches out and pats clumsily at Richard’s hair.

Richard laughs and ducks away from Jamie’s ministrations. “It’s a lost cause, mate.”

Jamie sighs and gives them each a kiss on the cheek, then ducks around them to continue down the hallway. “Have fun, dears!”

 _We will,_ Taron thinks and follows Richard as they maneuver their way out of the party.

—

Richard pushes Taron up against the door the minute they get into the hotel room and Taron doesn’t even try to hold back his appreciative moan. “ _Yes_ ,” he hisses, then bites Richard’s bottom lip. The car ride was enough time for his body to fully recover from orgasm and he can feel his cock plumping up happily with the renewed stimulation.

Richard strips him of his clothes quickly, sparing an absolutely filthy grin when he peels off his come-stained pants, and walks Taron backwards until his knees hit the bed. Taron is acutely aware that he is arse naked whilst Richard is fully dressed in his ridiculously expensive suit. It’s kind of...making Taron’s dick even harder.

With a shove to Taron’s shoulder, Richard gets Taron flat on his back on the mattress. Taron grins and stretches out, patting the covers appreciatively. “Very posh, Dicky,” he teases.

“Shut up,” Richard breathes, eyeing up and down Taron’s body the way some men might eye a meal. Taron wants to blush but instead finds himself arching a little more exaggeratedly, squirming a little more. “Tease,” Richard growls and climbs onto the bed, hovering over Taron on all fours.

Richard grips Taron’s jaw in one hand and licks into Taron’s mouth, using his hold to tilt Taron’s head as he pleases. Taron shivers and loops one arm around Richard’s neck. “I really did miss you,” Richard mutters, dragging his mouth down Taron’s neck. The stubble _burns_ and it makes Taron hiss, bucking his hips up fruitlessly.

“C’mon,” he says, frustrated and turned on and loving it all. “ _C’mon_.”

“Shh,” Richard hums, bringing a hand up to Taron’s cheek, trying to gentle him. “Just a second, love.” He sits up and shrugs off his jacket. Just that movement spurs Taron’s arousal and he considers briefly how deep into this he really is. Richard untucks his dress shirt but leaves that on with the rest of his clothing, before repositioning himself above Taron.

“My handsome chicken,” Richard teases, nosing at Taron’s temple where he’s already started to sweat. Taron rolls his eyes but smiles helplessly, too. It’s a line that was just supposed to part of their carpool karaoke bit, part of the comedy. Somehow, it’s stuck around and Taron thinks it’s obnoxious (even if his heart does flutter a bit whenever Richard says it).

Richard drops hips down onto Taron’s then and they both groan at the sensation. It’s so easy to fall into an immediate rhythm together. “There we go,” Richard says in that low, irresistible voice of his when Taron slings a leg over Richard’s hip to get them even closer.

“Gonna get your fancy slacks all messy,” Taron huffs out, nuzzling at the hinge of Richard’s jaw. His cock still has half-dried come on it and he’s leaking precome already besides.

“Good,” Richard says, sliding a hand under Taron’s lower back and pushing his pelvis up even more, grinding their cocks as close together as they can get with Richard’s clothes between them. “Get them all messy, love.”

Taron groans and bites Richard’s neck—hard, because he knows it’ll stop Richard in his tracks for a moment. On cue, Richard lets out a guttural moan and slack and shaky. “Fuck—“

Taron takes the moment of weakness to use the leg he has over Richard’s hip to flip them over. “Too slow,” he says by way of explaining and kisses all over Richard’s adorably bewildered and flustered face. He makes quick work off the buttons on Richard’s shirt, immensely pleased with himself once it’s completely undone and falls away. “You don’t have any shoots where you need to be bare chested, do you? Filming any half-naked scenes?” He tugs at a few hairs on Richard’s sternum as he questions him.

“Uh...no…?” Richard is panting, gripping tightly onto Taron’s hips.

“Good,” Taron says, giving him a shit-eating grin and ducking down to kiss all over that ridiculously gorgeous chest and torso. The fixation on Richard’s stubble might be a new one but Taron’s had a thing for the chest hair since the first time he was around Richard while Richard was wearing a shirt with a few buttons undone. “If I,” Taron murmurs, pausing to bite at Richard’s nipple, “could do this forever,” dips his tongue into Richard’s navel, “I would be,” sucks two, three marks over Richard’s heaving ribs, “the most smug bastard,” licks over Richard’s collarbone, “this side of the bloody world.”

He punctuates the sentiment by attaching his mouth to the particularly sweaty dip in the center of Richard’s chest, sucks the sweat from the strands of hair there, then sinks his teeth in and sets about making sure to leave a mark that will _last_.

“Fuck,” he hears Richard spit, feels him grind his cock up into Taron’s thigh. “Like a fucking vampire.” This doesn’t seem to be a bad thing, because Richard clutches one hand to Taron’s shoulder and grips the short strands of his hair in the other, moaning like he doesn’t care who hears.

Taron finally surfaces, savagely pleased with the bright red, spit slick mark blooming on Richard’s skin. “One more,” he tells Richard, shimmying down his body and eyeing that gorgeous jawline as he goes—Richard’s tilted his head back. He makes grabby hands when Taron moves out of his grip. He reaches the waistband of Richard’s slacks and lays short, staccato kisses along the skin just above it.

“You’re so hard,” he murmurs, kisses hotly along the line of Richard’s cock and tries not to think too deeply about it when his mouth literally waters at the thick, straining heat of it.

“Did you expect me not to be?” Richard snarks, and Taron nips at the thin skin over his hipbone in retaliation.

“Ngh,” Richard chokes out wordlessly, twisting a little beneath him. Better.

Taron soothes over that spot with his tongue and then decides it’s perfect for a mark. “Right here,” he says softly. The skin here is soft, thin and will bruise fucking beautifully. Richard is whining like a hurt puppy above him, shifting his hips desperately, so Taron takes pity on him and palms at his cock as he works on the mark.

“Taron,” Richard groans, fumbling for Taron’s shoulder again. Taron can’t help stop his smile then and that interrupts his progress but he decides he’s done well enough and kisses sweetly over the fresh bruise, before making his way back up Richard’s chest.

“Hi,” he whispers when he gets back to face level with Richard, who has two spots of hectic red high on his cheeks.

“Minx,” Richard accuses, pulling him in roughly for an absolutely bruising kiss.

Taron hums appreciatively and curls into to it, cups Richard’s jaw with his hand and run the other up and down his flank. “And?” He mumbles it into the kiss, smiling slightly. “Is that a problem?”

Richard presses his tongue into Taron’s mouth, enough to make Taron’s breath hitch, and then pulls away. “Flat on your front, now, you twat,” he says, gravelly and accented and perfect. Taron shivers, and rolls his body against Richard’s mouth. “Gonna eat your arse out now, love.”

“ _Christ,_  Rich,” Taron moans, pressing two, three sloppy kisses into Richard’s neck before scrambling to get the fuck onto his front.

“Perfect,” Richard tells him as soon Taron’s sprawled out. Taron feels his heart going a mile a minute with anticipation. “You know,” Richard says conversationally, situating himself over Taron and lowering himself so his mouth is right near Taron’s ear. Taron can feel Richard’s hard cock on the small of his back through his slacks. “I think I’ve only ever licked out when I’m clean shaven before, yeah?” He rubs his prickly chin over Taron’s shoulder, as if to emphasize.

Taron _keens_ , and shoves his hips down into the bed. “Do it,” he begs, all thoughts for dignity out the goddamn window. “Please, Richard, I want…”

Richard starts kissing quickly along Taron’s spine, moving down until he stops at the dip of Taron’s back, just before the curve of his arse. Taron can _feel_ the way his lips curve into a smile against Taron’s skin. “You really do have an incredible arse, love,” Richard says, bringing a hand up to squeeze one of Taron’s cheeks. “And your _thighs_ …” Richard scratches over the fine hairs on the back of one of Taron’s thighs.

“I know,” Taron says, smug even as he’s lying here panting and desperate. He’s about to preen some more but then Richard is spreading him open and without preamble, laving his tongue right over Taron’s hole. “ _Oh_ ,” he moans, melting into the bed a little.

Richard lightly grazes his teeth over the thin skin and Taron tenses up, and perhaps the sound that comes out of his mouth might be called a mewl by some, but he can’t really worry about that right now. “Ready?” Richard asks, breath ghosting over Taron and making him squirm.

Taron can’t do anything other than groan and wiggle around but that seems enough. Richard grabs onto his hips, pins him down and buries his face in Taron’s arse. “Fuck, _yes_ ,” Taron hisses.

It’s no secret that Richard has a bit of an oral fixation, that he loves sucking Taron off and eating him out and everything in between that he could possibly use his mouth for. He feels the vibrations of Richard groaning into him and it’s a _lot_. “Good, good, good,” Taron chants, burying his face into the rumpled comforter, overwhelmed.

He can feel his skin getting rubbed up by the scratch of Richard’s facial hair and every second of burn from it makes Taron think he’s going to come right then. “Rich,” he gasps, haphazardly reaching an arm back and flailing around until he can grasp onto Richard’s messy hair. The angle strains his back but the ache of it somehow just feels _good_ amongst all the pleasure. He brings one of his knees up a bit, tilting his hips and making it easier for Richard to get closer.

Richard moans and nods against him, licking like his life fucking depends on it. The sting of his stubble is exquisite and Taron wants to feel it everywhere, always, for the rest of his life. Richard kisses up from Taron’s hole, move to his cheek. Taron can hear him gasping for breath and it should not be sexy knowledge that it’s because he’s practically be suffocating himself in the name of eating Taron’s arse out but it _is_. “Good boy,” Richard breathes, dragging his teeth over the curve of Taron’s arse and digging his short, rough nails into the meat of Taron’s thighs.

Taron lets out a huffy breath of a moan. “How...how does it look?” He rocks his hips, tugs a little harder at Richard’s hair.

Richard breathes hotly over his flesh and Taron can feel him spread him open a bit. He licks slow over tender skin and Taron whines. “All pink,” Richard murmurs. “Roughed up from me. Does it hurt?” He brings a hand up to press roughly into that skin.

“ _Yes_ , ‘s perfect,” Taron gasps out.

There’s a deep, deep groan from Richard and then his mouth is back over Taron’s hole, sloppy and wet and insistent. “Rich,” Taron cries, clawing at the bed with his free hand. “I’m gonna come—if you don’t stop, I’m gonna come—“

“Okay,” Richard agrees from where he’s buried into Taron’s arse. He doubles down, bites and licks and sucks and moves his jaw all over, makes sure to scratch up Taron as much as possible. Taron feels Richard’s own hips moving where they’re pressed against the mattress between Taron’s legs and thinks about how Richard is so worked up from this, he’s fucking the mattress just for some relief, still trapped in his slacks and pants.

Richard gets both hands _tight_ around Taron’s arse, spreads him open and dips his tongue _inside_ of Taron.

Taron _yelps_ , and then he’s coming, so hard there are white spots dancing around in his vision. Richard pulls away roughly, grabbing Taron by the hips and flipping him around, even as he’s in the midst of orgasm. “Look at you,” Richard breathes, stroking a trembling hand down Taron’s chest. Streaks of come hit Richard’s hand and without missing a beat, he brings it up to his mouth and laps it up.

“Fuck,” Taron gasps, the visual too much just as he’s coming down from his orgasm. He feels shaky and satisfied and weak from the strength of it all. “Come here,” he rasps, looping his arms around Richard’s neck and tugging him down to kiss him. Richard’s mouth and chin are spit slick. He smells and tastes like Taron’s arse and come and it’s fucking glorious.

Richard whines into his mouth, ridiculously prettily and desperate. He ruts his still clothed cock against Taron’s belly and shakes the way he does before he’s about to come. “Wait,” Taron says, grabbing Richard’s hip with a firm hand and forcing him to stop.

“Bastard— _please_ ,” Richard begs, clawing at Taron wherever he can reach.

“Wait, love,” Taron murmurs again, still spinning himself. He fumbles to get between them, unbuttons and unzips Richard’s slacks. He wrestles them down just over the curve of Richard’s arse (unable to stop himself from giving that a squeeze too—he’s only human) and then dips his hand inside Richard’s briefs to draw his cock out. He’s absolutely _dripping_ precome and he’s so hard Taron’s stomach clenches with want.

“Taron,” Richard whimpers. “Please.”

He’s so fucking wet with precome that it slicks up Taron’s palm quickly, which is _perfect_. He wraps his hand tightly around that gorgeous, thick cock and he gives Richard a sloppy open-mouthed kiss. “Like this, Rich,” he murmurs, pressing his other hand to the small of Richard’s back and guiding him to move his hips.

Richard groans gratefully and picks up a frantic rhythm quickly, fucking into Taron’s fist and against his abdomen roughly. “Yeah,” Taron encourages. “Yeah, Rich, there you go.” He peppers soft, slick kisses all over Richard’s jaw, his neck and shoulder, nuzzles into the hollow behind his ear. “Ate me out so well,” Taron murmurs. “I’m all scratched up, gonna feel you for days. Gonna get myself off to it.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Richard snarls, writhing around in Taron’s arms, biting wherever he can reach. He’s shaking again and the thing Taron wants most in this world right now is for Richard to fucking come, right here, like this. He moves his hand down from the now-drenched small of Richard’s back and pushes it down his briefs. He only gets to press two of his fingers against Richard’s hole before Richard seizes up in his arm and stutters out his name, followed by a jumble of nonsense syllables.

Richard’s cock shoots up high enough that the first three spurts hit both of their chins, their mouths. “Oh fuck, love,” Taron groans, because _that_ is stupidly hot, the kind of thing that will be etched in his brain forever. Richard has a glazed look in his eye, a stream of soft moans leaving his slack mouth as he continues to come.

Taron presses his lips to Richard’s own—their kiss is a mess of spit and Richard’s come all over their lips, their tongues. It’s filthy and Taron almost wishes he were hard again so he could get off on it. Richard finishes and sags against Taron, reciprocating the soft, lazy kisses between them. They’re both sort of petting one another, long sweeping brushes of hands up and down arms, backs, pushing sweaty hair out of eyes.

“Good?” Richard says eventually, kissing over Taron’s eyelid where he’s shut his eyes in total relaxation.

“Mm,” Taron murmurs approvingly. Richard gives him one more kiss on his cheek then rolls over to flop onto his back beside Taron.

Taron feels _fucked up_ , body raw and used and satiated. He’s scratched up everywhere. Richard made sure to get him all over: neck, chest, torso, arse, thighs. Taron kind of wants to live like this always, if it were practical. “I forgot how good we are at that,” Taron says, turning onto his side so he can look at Richard, who does the same. Taron reaches out and pushes Richard’s sweaty, messy curls back from where they’re plastered to his forehead.

Richard snorts. “No, you didn’t.”

Taron scrunches his nose. “No,” he agrees. “I really, _really_ didn’t.” Richard laughs and leans into kiss Taron’s nose. “I did miss you, though,” Taron says, softly, petting at Richard’s chest.

Richard smiles at him, and it lights those blue eyes up to an unreal brilliance. “Missed you, too.” He traces a few fingers over the lines of Taron’s face, and Taron grabs onto his hand, kisses the palm.

“You’re on towel duty,” Taron tells Richard once he pulls his hand away.

“What?” Richard whines. “No, my legs are dead. You killed them.”

Taron shakes his head unsympathetically. “Nope, I’m the filthiest right now and that’s entirely _your_ fault. You go get the towels.” He flicks Richard on the shoulder and stares at him unflinchingly, refusing to bend under Richard’s pleading eyes.

Finally, Richard sighs in defeat and heaves himself up off the bed, shucking his slacks and pants. “You’re lucky you’re gorgeous,” he mutters, stalking off to the bathroom. Taron watches that incredible arse go and then flops onto his back, unable to keep the grin off his face.

“Wine, love?” Richard calls from the en-suite to the bathroom.

Taron has the sudden feeling of being very rich, and very lucky, and very well-fucked. All _very_ good feelings. “Yes, please,” he says. “Only a bit though.”

Richard returns, looking like a whole fantasy with a stack of fluffy towels under one arm, and a glass of wine in each of his hands. His hair is still woefully rumpled and there’s still damp sweat visible on his skin. He sets the wine down on the nightstand and climbs onto the bed, kneeling over Taron and dragging a damp towel over him.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Taron remarks, like he isn’t just quivering under all the attention.

“Well,” Richard says, in a thoughtful voice. “I’m hoping if I’m nice to you,” he switches out the damp towel for a dry one, “you won’t steal all the fucking covers tonight.” He finishes up and gives Taron a smug smile.

“Hey!” Taron protests. He sits up and pushes Richard onto his back, grabbing a second dampened towel and returning the favor even as he scolds Richard. “I do not,” he pauses to drop a quick kiss to an adorable constellation of freckles on Richard’s shoulder, “steal the covers.” He pats Richard dry. “I’ll sue you for slander.”

Richard throws his head back and _laughs_ . He sits up along with Taron and reaches over for their wine glasses, handing Taron one. “I’m sorry, T,” Richard says, sipping on the wine. “But it’s not slander if it’s the truth.” His accent makes him sound even _cockier_. He sets his wine glass down and works on untucking the comforter from the bed so he can pull the sheets over them, over their laps.

Taron sips at his wine, looking at Richard shrewdly. “You’re just trying to make me feel bad,” he says.

“You steal the covers _every time_ ,” Richard says, leaning in to give Taron a quick kiss. “Remember the one time we did it in your trailer, on set? Stole the covers then, too, and it was only a _nap_.”

Taron finishes off his last bit of wine, and sets the glass on the nightstand, narrowing his eyes at Richard suspiciously. He lays down on the bed, shimmies himself under the comforter, and pouts up at Richard, who’s still sitting up and looking down at Taron with fond smile on his face. “I do not steal covers,” Taron says mulishly one more time, though the defeat is clear in his voice.

Richard chuckles and reaches a hand down to caress Taron’s face briefly. “Cover thief,” he says. “A handsome cover thief, though.”

Taron rolls his eyes and kicks half-heartedly at Richard’s legs. Richard laughs and reaches over to turn the light off. Taron listens to him slide down under the covers and waits until his eyes adjust, seeking out the Richard’s silhouette in the dark. He reaches out and rubs at Richard’s shoulder, then scoots closer and nudges at him until Richard gets the idea and turns around. Taron hums happily and draws Richard to him to be his little spoon. He loves holding Richard this way and Richard always seems to agree, snuggling in close.

Taron kisses the back of Richard’s neck. “You’re a good best mate,” he tells him.

Richard huffs a soft laugh and tangled his fingers with Taron’s where Taron has his arm looped around Richard’s waist, hand resting on his abdomen. “You too,” Richard tells him. “You’ll never be rid of me now, you realize.”

It’s quiet for a bit after that. Taron buries his nose into the rumpled, sweaty hair at the nape of Richard’s neck and thinks that he really is just a lucky bloody son of a bitch. He’s halfway to sleep when Richard speaks up again suddenly, though his voice is drowsy too.

“You know,” he drawls, accent heavy and gorgeous, “I am quite glad it _wasn’t_ the Daddy thing.”

Immediately, Taron kicks Richard’s calf. “Fuck off, you wanker,” he complains. Richard keeps laughing and pats Taron’s hand consoling. It’s a little bit contagious, that kind of joy and contentment, so Taron laughs too.

When Richard turns his head for a kiss, Taron cranes his neck and obliges. He holds onto Richard and revels in pure happiness until they both sink off into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> yes, i put richard in a suit just for the ~aesthetic.
> 
> kudos and comments (i reply) feed and shelter me.
> 
> that's all, folks. 
> 
> (jk i have a collective 15k in drafts and drabbles about richard+taron in my documents. anything could happen)
> 
> (psa--this is just me repurposing my own chaotic thoughts and feelings. it is not speculation or a statement about their personal lives, because i don't know them at all and my self-indulgent porn has nothing to do with who they really are. i do not ever want this anywhere near them. would i be shocked if we learned they had hooked up at some point? no. do i claim to have any valid knowledge about what their lives are really like? no, of course not. )


End file.
